


In The Wings

by VegebulMelodies



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Music, Operas, Singing, Vegeta being Vegeta (Dragon Ball)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23438605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VegebulMelodies/pseuds/VegebulMelodies
Summary: Since she was a child, Bulma worked hard to become lead mezzo-soprano of the Kame Opera House. But when a new, foreign bass-baritone from Saiya immigrates to South City and joins the company, her world is about to be turned upside down...Inspired by the music of a variety of operas and artists, this story is a Human AU of two competitive opera singers falling for each other AND in their beds...not necessarily in that order!***Follow Me on Twitter for Update Announcements!***
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, Bulma Briefs/Yamcha, Chi-Chi/Son Goku (Dragon Ball)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 108





	1. Feelin' Good

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: DBZ and the music inspiring each chapter do not belong to me!  
> Artist: Nina Simone
> 
> A very special thank you to @amartbee for the beautiful, commissioned cover art!

Baroque styled columns towered towards the evening sky, endless detailed sconces and gargoyles staring down at the fine-feathered crowd entering the doors of the South City Opera House. 

A little girl with bright blue eyes and hair to match stared in open awe at the magnificence of the palace as her mother and father, dressed to the tens, landed the hovercar by the front steps. Dr. Briefs, in his black tux and a white tie, exited the vehicle and opened the door for his wife. Bunny, with a white fur and shimmering royal purple gown, took her husband’s hand graciously and stood up. “Oh, thank you, dear!,” she cooed. “I’m so glad I have such a big, strong man to take care of me.”

A pink flush tinted the older man’s cheeks. “Of course, dear. Are you ready, Bulma?” he asked, looking through the back seat window. 

The door opened. 

A pair of glittery ruby slippers hopped on to the concrete sidewalk. 

A girl, not even seven years old, stood in her favorite red ball gown, oozing with enthusiasm. A ticket waved excitedly in her hand. “Yeah! Let’s go!”

Vegeta sat in a private box, a serious scowl imprinted on his face as he watched the patrons fill their seats below. 

Lucia di Lammermoor, his mother had called the production. He didn’t care for the show title and had no clue what it was about. He was surprised in the first place that his father was there to watch the show, too. Thinking about minuscule details, like the title of his mother’s performance, was far from important at the moment. 

The Emperor of Saiya glowered from their balcony, casting a judgemental eye to everyone below. Twin steel eyes to Vegeta were set on the older man’s face, though his ten-year-old son made it look more terrifying than him. Both wore the colors of their nation - navy blue tuxes and crimson red capes, which glittered alongside the many gold medals that decorated their vests - proudly. 

They said nothing, just looked at the crowd below. Vegeta hopes the night would pass quickly; once his mother was back between them, things always seemed a lot easier. 

A flash of bright blue caught his eye. 

He glanced to the right.

A girl, about his age, bounces excitedly in her seat between what Vegeta assumed to be her parents. They sat in the box across the theater, their own seats covered in velvet while the crystals from their booth’s chandelier glittered brightly. 

She smiled, laughing about someone her father said. 

A faint smirk appeared on the prince’s face before disappearing. 

House lights dimmed. 

The orchestra began to warm up. 

It was almost showtime. 

Her throat burned as Bulma stretched her vocal cords to their limits. 

The piano faltered as her fist slapped the top. 

The music stand went flying. 

“God damn it!” she screamed, frustration flowing through every pore. 

The kindly old music teacher with grey dusted dreadlocks held up a gentle hand. “You’re doing well. Perhaps if you stuck within your range-“

“Fuck, my range!” Bulma raged. “I don’t want to be just another second-rate alto!”

“Miss Briefs, there’s nothing wrong with having a naturally lower voice.” She tried her best to encourage the impatient girl. “You could easily be a successful mezzo-soprano if you put in the work.”

Bulma huffed, tucking a strand of hair back into place. The bright pink bow in her hair bounced irately as she straightened the music from her temper tantrum. 

All that echoed through her mind was the beautiful voice of that captivating, black-haired soprano she saw on her first visit to the opera.

_Drenched in the blood of her ex-fiancé, the maiden mourned with an extensive aria. Not for the love of her soon-to-be husband, but for the man her family kept her from so desperately..._

“I can do it,” she stated determinedly. “Again.”

“Uno alla volta, uno alla volta, uno al-“ Vegeta gasped, flying back against the brick wall. Hard. 

The young man landed in a heap, heaving. 

He brought his hand up to his throbbing jaw and wiped the side of his mouth; blood came away. 

The violinist stood with a gasp, losing grip of his bow. 

His mother gasped in horror, those dainty hands coming up to grasp her cheeks. 

Emperor Vegeta stood over him, dull ridicule echoing in his eyes. The right edge of his dominant hand was red from the smack he’d given his son, though he made no inclination of the pain. 

He plainly stated, “If you can’t manage to not be flat for once, how do you ever expect to amount to anything?”

The prince calmly stood, rage-infused embarrassment seeping from that piercing black gaze of his. He straightened his clothes and took his place back next to the piano, where the stern-faced conductor for the Saiya Royal Opera Company sat to conduct their lesson. 

He looked up at Vegeta, waiting. “Ready to try again, my prince?”

The only answer given was a subtle nod before the music started again and the rumble of a deep bass-baritone filled the palace halls. 


	2. Primadonna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I got too inspired and had to get this chapter out of me 😂 Crave is still coming this week! I just really needed to vent this. 
> 
> DBZ and the music inspiring each chapter do not belong to me, just the writing you see here. 
> 
> Music involved includes:  
> Primadonna by Maria and the Diamonds  
> Vivaldi’s Winter Suite  
> Into The Unknown covered by Panic! at the Disco (Frozen 2 Soundtrack)
> 
> Enjoy!

_She gasped, feeling herself be led in wide circles across the stage. The ballgown draping her form swirled around her heels, kissing the painted wood flats underneath her as Bulma danced._

_The audience applauded enthusiastically, standing in their seats._

_The man who’s arms held her tightly, who smelt like the embers under a crackling fire and spiced wine, held Bulma against the muscles of his chest. Warmth radiated from him. His breath was hot in her ear, trickling down the back of her neck._

_The blue haired mezzo couldn’t help but grin seductively, a string of perfect notes flowing from her throat as she more-than played the part of her role._

_A swell of emotion rose in from her stomach._

_Her skin tingled._

_Every eye in the room, including a dark, lust-filled pair, was on her._

_She was a star..._

The sound of cardinals singing from the cherry blossom tree outside her window woke Bulma. Her eyes opened gently, a contented smile spread across her lips. She felt like one of those Victorian paintings of women in a beautiful state of undress; the sunlight spilled romantically in through the sheer curtains on her balcony, along the cream plush carpeting, over the peach velvet comforter and ivory silk sheets of her four-postered bed, against the marbled tile framing the tasteful fireplace before her, and over Bulma’s luxuriously laid out frame on her many pillows. Her blemish-free curves were barely covered by the baby pink nightgown she’d wore last night. The gentle waves of her bright blue locks, a shade that rivaled the luminescence of the cloudless sky outside and the rolling waves washing the white beaches only a few hundred yards away from her front door, fanned around her face.

A click was heard from her simple, white radio. 

A soothing woman’s voice came on.

_“...Venus is at its brightest as the evening “star,” passing near the Pleiades, or Seven Sisters, as our month begins...”_

Bulma’s smile grew wider. She sat up, gradually, letting herself stretch every muscle thoroughly with satisfaction. With a groan of contentment, those long, creamy legs swung over the side of the bed and slipped her feet into a pair of light blue slippers. 

_“...This morning in South City, you can see Jupiter, Saturn and Mars...“_

Her feet carried her across the soft floor and into the bathroom. All white cabinetry and a floor length mirror greeted Bulma to the right while a deep, oval tub lay up a set of tiled steps to the left. She went precisely there, turning the water three-quarters of the way to warm and sprinkling just the right amount of lavender Epsom salts near the closed drain. The woman sighed as she slipped off her gown, coiled her hair up into a loose knot, and stepped tenderly into the just-steaming water. 

Coconut and coffee body scrub lathered her curvaceous form in aromatic bubbles.

The buzzer on the wall dinged; Bulma’s mother had breakfast ready downstairs for her. 

A choir began to sing in five-part harmony over the radio speakers, and she sang along - in her part - absentmindedly as her fingers washed her form...

_“Come close to me, my strength, my life. Let not winter’s touch enter between us...”_

“Good morning, dear!” Bunny cooed, her blonde curls bouncing on top of her head as she took her place at the table. Dr. Briefs, Bulma’s father, already sat reading the paper and alternating between munching on sausages and taking drags from a cigarette. When his youngest daughter sat at the table, however, he politely put the stub out. 

Bulma grinned, picking up the perfectly warm cup of black tea in front of her - already in her favorite candy corn mug - and sipped gently. “Good morning, Mom.” A plate was placed in front of her - a toasted bagel with strawberry cream cheese, two scrambled eggs, and a selection of mixed tropical fruit - and she started to happily chow down. 

“You’re in a good mood,” her mother commented, grinning. “Was it the strawberries?”

“No, but I definitely appreciate those. Something just feels good about today.” 

“Hmm. Is that so?” Dr. Briefs peaked over his newspaper inquisitively, giving a smile underneath his large mustache. “Well, you had better hurry and finish eating before Chi Chi gets here. You’re all riding together today, right?”

Bulma gave a nod, choosing to answer the more polite route than to talk with her mouth full. 

Bunny exclaimed, “Oh! Well, I had better make a lunch for her and Goku, too!” Her daughter tried to protest, but hardly made an effort to stop the natural hostess from prepping another few lunches. She doubted her cast members - especially Goku - would protest some homemade chicken salad.

Sure enough, not too much later Bulma heard two quick knocks on the front door and a large, messy-haired man walked in. He gave a dazzling smile, excitement rolling off of him in palpable waves. “Morning, Bulma! You ready to go?”

She chuckled to herself, grabbing her purse. “Good morning, Goku. Grab the lunches for me and we’ll get going.”

With a happy gasp and a bounce in his step, the towering Saiyan rushes to the kitchen. Bulma gave herself a once over in the hall mirror while she waited, brushing a stray hair back into place. Today, she chose a pale yellow dress with black sketched lavenders detailing the fabric. The waist was cinched, hugging under her bust tightly while the rest of the piece flowed. The sweetheart necklace showed some cleavage without being tacky while the slits in the long skirt added a concealed flirtiness. Pale leather sandals decorated her feet. Her natural natural blue locks were parted to the side and framed her face naturally. A hint of strawberry chapstick on her lips, pink to match her nails. 

She knew she looked good. 

Goku bounded back around the corner with the bags, chewing on what Bulma assumed to be extras her mother made. “Ready?” he asked muffled, a few loose crumbs flying out of his mouth. 

Bulma smiled and shook her head before dawning her tan, wide-brimmed sunhat. “Always.”

She rode with Goku and Chi Chi all the way to South City Opéra, chattering away in the front seat. The black-haired alto listened to Bulma gossip and laughed with her at the ridiculousness of backstage antics while Goku stretched across the backseat. The top on the couple’s dark green car was down, gusting the threesome with salty summer air as they sped through the suburbs and into the city streets. 

When they came to a stop outside of the towering complex, Goku hurried in front of the girls to say hello to Krillin, who’d been climbing out of Tenshin’s Oldsmobile. The tall, bald tenor stood with Chaotzu - a surprisingly deep bass for his size - and Yamcha. Bulma’s smile fell a little seeing her boyfriend laugh and joke with his friends, that mop of hair rustling gently in the wind as he moved. 

“You know, if you don’t want the relationship anymore then you should tell him,” Chi Chu whispered, hitting the key fob and clutching the day’s sheet music in one arm. 

Bulma huffed, fixing her hair nervously. Today was last prep for their Night of Arias and everyone was nervous. Instead of having the usual auditions for their next season, Shin and his father, Kai Senior, were using tomorrow’s show as the first audition round. Anyone who’d need to be seen afterwards would be called individually. For years, the Briefs heiress had been trying to break barriers in the opera circuit. Her family was known for their intelligence and astounding inventions, but not much for the arts. Since she was a child, she’d worked herself hoarse to be lead soprano of the famous South City Opera.

Relationship problems with the lead baritone didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. It was just another hinderance. 

She nibbled on her bottom lip, mulling the thought over as the two made their way backstage towards the rehearsal spaces. “Maybe after auditions tomorrow,” Bulma said finally. “Now would be a horrible time, for both of us, to have that talk.”

Chi Chi sighed, giving a friendly wave to Lazuli - another mezzo-soprano - as they made their way through the winding corridors. “Whatever, Bulma.”

“Hey, not all of us can just yell at their partner to get what they want. You’ve got Goku wrapped around your finger.”

“I rarely need to even do that. Because he actually cares and doesn’t flirt with chorus girls in front of me, or at all.”

Bulma winced at that, remembered the sight of Yamcha chatting up another blue-haired girl just a few days ago. During rehearsal. In front of everyone, including her. When he’d caught Bulma’s eye, he just gave a weak smile and walked away. No apology or anything. 

“Did you hear about the prince?” Lazuli walked up to the two of them quickly, her blue eyes piercing through a veil of straight blonde hair. Her usually stoic face was more animated than usual, a hint of excitement peaking through. 

Chi Chi’s brow furrowed. “What prince?”

“Some monarch from Saiya? That old kingdom from the East that warred with the Tuffles a few years back? He’s supposed to be coming to the arias tomorrow.”

Bulma’s eyes widened. “When did that get decided?”

The blonde shrugged. “Lapis just told me. He heard Shin on the phone last night after notes. Apparently, the prince’s mother used to perform here back in the day and he’s got the ‘gift’ too.”

“Ahem.” All three ladies popped their heads up at the sound of their director. Shin stood with his arms crossed, a serious but amused look on the short man’s face. “Don’t you ladies have warmups to attend to? And Bulma,” - he turned directly to look at her - “you have lessons with Roshi in ten minutes.”

“Thank you, ten,” they stuttered before scurrying off to their places. 

Shin chuckled, fixing his wrist watch. His feet began to carry him to the front of the building; he had a new bass-baritone to welcome. 

A long day of rehearsals ensued. Despite Bulma’s more-than-good mood that morning, vocal training had left her frustrated more often than not. Roshi was a wonderful teacher, but his insistence on leaving Bulma to only do alto pieces was infuriating. 

He knew how much she pushed herself. How long she’d practice, stretching her chords until they threatened to break, agonizing over diphthongs and arpeggios until they were perfect. Why didn’t her coach, her conductor, have faith in her?

The blue-haired beauty sighed as she packed her things. Normally, she’d occupy the music rooms until past midnight doing exercises. But she’d promised to meet everyone for drinks, to let loose before tomorrow’s stress-fest, tonight. Even though half of her didn’t want to go. 

A few quick taps.

A timer set for forty-five minutes. 

Plenty of time to do this and make it on time...

She gathered the sheet music roughly, forcefully tapping the pages flat. Bulma had spent weeks practicing the Queen of the Night aria for the show...only for Roshi to decide, today of all days, to switch to Dido and Aneas. 

There was nothing wrong with Dido’a dying aria. Really! The problem was Bulma was sick of mezzo-fucking-soprano parts. She had the range and skill and determination to go higher! Be better!

She sighed frustratedly, yanking at her headphones and shoving them in her ears. An escape was much needed, right now. 

Her sandals clicked and echoed through the wings as Bulma made her way on to the stage. The music played in her ears, but she paused it right before the lyrics started. 

She wasn’t ready yet. 

A quick pair of deft fingers flicked off the emergency beams and brought the stage lights up. 

A hard tug - “Clear the stage; line going out!” - of the ropes and the fly loft lifted the heavy, velvet curtains high into the air before they were locked back in place. 

Just a few steps and Bulma looked out into pure blackness, an entire audience dark through her view of the old proscenium. Hundreds of seats, from balcony to orchestra to boxes, stared at her lone figure on the stage. She breathed; it silence was a warm homecoming. 

Her soul felt content. 

She pressed play. 

The guitar started.

The chorus rang. 

Bulma sang out, uninhibited, into the space. 

Her voice echoed throughout the room, bouncing off of the well-designed walls. She projected easily to the empty nose-bleeds, not a care in the world. Whether she was on pitch or not didn’t matter right now. Whether her classical training and precision and vibrato was on point didn’t matter. Right now, it was just about singing. 

Feeling that heat rise from her shoulders, up the sides of her neck, and across her cheeks...

Spreading her arms wide, singing out as she felt the need to...

Letting all of her hurt at Yamcha, her anger at Roshi, her fear at never leaving this plateau out into the darkness...

Not feeling ashamed when the tears flowed down her cheeks, the feeling so intense it needed a way out...

Being happy that she could just be on stage, doing what she loved, without a care...

Bulma sang that song over and over again, never tiring of it...until her alarm rang. 

She sighed. 

The music turned off. 

Her frame stood still, basking in the feel of the stage for a moment longer before walking off. 

The lights clicked off. 

The curtain - “Line coming in!” - dropped. 

Those sandals echoed as Bulma walked off stage, down the hall, towards the club at the end of the block. 

And a shadowed frame with tall, black hair and dark eyes blinked from the shadows of box number six. He sat for awhile longer, thinking about what he had just witnessed, before following her out of the stage doors. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special thank you to my readers, followers, and Patreon Blues and Princes:
> 
> Cande Briefs, GreyMochila, Moon, Mrs. Yuuwaku, and Rasilina
> 
> I love you all ❤️
> 
> Be sure to follow me on Twitter @MelodiesVegebul for updates, behind the scenes stuff, and mini-smuts.


	3. Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Get ready for a ride, y’all! Smut incoming!!  
> Song and Artist: My Oh My by Camila Cabello

The club was packed, wall to wall, with bodies when Bulma walked in the door. The blue velvet dress she wore, the same tint of her hair, seemed to pulse under the lights as she made her way through the crowd. Finally, she saw them: Lazuli and Chi Chi sitting in one of the booths on the side. As she moved closer, Goku and Krillin came into view, the curtains originally blocking them from being seen. "Yes! She's here!" Chi Chi yelled, grabbing Bulma's hand and pulling her beside her. "I'm glad I caught you before you saw."

"Saw what?" Bulma asked.

Her friend looked away nervously, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. Her orange halter top brought out her eyes even more than usual, showing the guilt there even more.

Bulma looked over to Lazuli for any kind of clue; what the hell was going on? The blonde just nodded her head towards the dance floor, sipping on her rum and coke casually as her boyfriend chattered on. She followed her direction and those blue eyes widened in surprise: Yamcha was dancing - no, grinding and making out - with another chick. Blue hair, a shade slightly darker than hers. Whatever she was wearing hardly constituted as clothing with how little it covered. And he was eating it up.

“Don’t worry about it,” Chi Chi said encouragingly, a touch of nervousness in her voice. “You know how he is.”

Bulma sighed to herself, insecurity washing over her. Images of the sweet, dorky boy she had originally started dating flooded her mind. The one who was nervous around women. Who couldn't even say 'hello' when they first met.

_What happened to that boy?_

Adulthood. For a long time, they had been drifting apart. Yamcha had only auditioned for the opera house to be with Bulma, since the long hours and demanding rehearsal schedule caused so many fights over the years. But, even that was coming to an end. She saw the scribbled notes on his fridge: meeting times to meet with local league scouts for baseball. Though, some of those notes looked too personal to just be for work.

“You okay, Bulma?” Goku asked, nudging her gently with a finger before moving it back to rub his girlfriend’s shoulder.

She gave a small smile as she slid out of the booth, smoothing down the bottom of her dress. “I’m fine. Just going to grab a drink really quick.”

Bulma circled around the wall, avoiding the dance floor as much as possible, before making it to the bar.

“Screwdriver on the rocks,” she ordered. “And a Shirley Temple.”

Fingers turned and clicked her card against the bar top absently as she waited for the drinks to come back.

A woman’s chime-like laugh sounded through the air.

_I don’t have time to deal with this..._

_I’ve got a show in a few hours..._

_How could he do this to me? To us?_

Was she really that hard to talk to? Bulma always thought that if they broke it off, Yamcha would tell her to her face that it was over.

The drinks slid in front of her.

Those red-tinted lips sipped the liquid down, letting it fuel her courage.

She sighed. _Guess tonight's the night to do this..._

She stood and made her way across the floor, dancing subtly past other bodies until she was face to face with her boyfriend. Bulma took a breath and cleared her throat.

Her fingers tapped his shoulder.

"Wh- oh," Yamcha said, surprised. He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hey, Bulma..."

"What are you doing, sweetie?" she asked curtly, plastering a fake smile on. "Can we talk?"

He grinned, one hand not leaving the other woman when he said, "For what? We're just having a good time, B."

Irritation flooded through Bulma. "A good time? By making out with another chick right in front of me?"

The drone of Yamcha’s voice faded into the background, along with any other excuses he was making, as Bulma locked eyes with a stranger.

Pitch-black eyes, the same shade as his flaming locks, stared her down from across the room with intense heat.

A tongue flicked out, licking a pair of tinted lips as he ravaged her with his gaze. His fangs glistened under the barroom lights.

A pair of dark jeans could be seen hanging low on his waist. The black leather jacket on his back unzipped, drawing her eyes to sets of delicious, bare, rippling muscles.

"Fine," she said finally, cutting off her boyfriend's tirade. "Then that means I can have fun, too." Her eyes snapped back to him for a split second. "That good with you?"

Yamcha chuckled, his attention already back on the floozy currently grinding his thigh. "Whatever, babe. I'll see you tomorrow."

Bulma looked back towards the bar, giving the dark stranger a smirk. She licked her lips; his eyes narrowed. Thick, tanned fingers gently picking up his bourbon on the rocks from the bar. Those tempting lips gave a half-smirk as he sauntered towards her, steel-toed boots clicking against the hardwood.

They didn't say a word as the distance closed between them. All that had her attention was how this man was walking sex; caramel skin peeking out from under his jacket, black eyes filled with an intense heat she couldn't quite comprehend locking her in place.

Another woman tried to dance up to him, grinning until one of those large palms grabbed her face and pushed back. He didn't lose a step, though, until they came face-to-face.

Those lips leaned in close to her ear. "Hey," he spoke huskily.

A shiver went down her spine as she sucked in a quick breath. "Hey."

He openly checked out her body, taking his time to drink her in, before locking eyes with her again. "Want to dance?"

She nodded, grinning flirtatiously.

The room was packed, pulsing and convulsing under the lights. Though everything around them seemed to fade away as he took her by the hand, led her to the center of the floor, and pulled her tight against him. Those serious eyes that seemed to instill nothing but fear and dread pinned her with a heat that was completely unfamiliar. Their hips were in sync, each other's thigh between the other's, each other's mouth leaning against the other's cheek.

He breathed heavily with each movement, those wide hands caressing her hips slowly. Bulma could feel herself get excited, felt a pool of desire start in the bottom of her stomach, as they danced. When did she stop caring about other people watching her grind against this hard, dangerous hunk? Probably the moment his teeth tugged playfully on her bottom lip and his calloused palm brushed the bottom of her breasts through her dress.

She breathed heavily as she leaned in close to his ear. “Want to get out of here?"

A flash of amusement washed over his face as he held up his glass. "After my drink is finished."

Feeling bold, Bulma took the glass from his hand and knocked it back with a smile.

The world was a blur of limbs and clothing, spinning around Bulma so violently that she didn't feel grounded until her back hit the sheets. Her cheeks flushed, she pulled the sexy stranger on top of her and kissed him, hard. There was a groan of approval as their tongues clashed. He tasted of bourbon and vanilla; she wondered if all of him tasted just as intoxicating.

His hands were evil, leaving no room for teasing as he roughly squeezed her breasts in just the right way. Bulma threw back her head with a moan, feeling dizzy from the feeling of this man on top of her. Finally, someone else was on top. She didn't know how long it had been since that happened...

He groaned, those black eyes ravaging her body almost as much as his hands were, before diving in tongue-first to her breasts, those hands pushing them roughly together. Her eyes popped open more as she felt his tongue against both of her nipples, new sensations of pleasure rushing through her.

_That's definitely new!_

Her dress and panties were torn away.

Those lips were at her neck, sucking and nibbling all over her skin much to her delight.

Something hard - definitely his cock - was shoved inside of her. Bulma let out a loud moan of surprise, widening her legs. He was so thick, stretching the inside of her in the most delicious way.

He slapped her, not hard enough to break her but the sting didn’t know the difference. She gasped, taking in some oxygen before that thick hand was suddenly wrapped around her throat.

Her eyes rolled back.

Her arms went weak, though her fingers clung to his wrist, begging him to stay.

His hips relentlessly drove that rock-hard shaft deep inside of her, over and over. Every thrust, every sting, making Bulma soak the sheets even further.

A finger brushed her lips.

She moaned, sucking it in her mouth.

He grunted, breathing heavily.

She saw stars as her brain went cloudy.

“Take it, just like that," he grunted, sweat glistening off of that Adonis-like body.

"Uh...fuck...don't stop," she whimpered, feeling herself fall over the edge.

His hands curled in the sheets, ripping holes through the linen.

A fierce, wet slapping was heard throughout the room as he continued pounding her over-and-over again.

"Ngh, you gonna cum for me?" he husked.

She gave a weak sound of approval, thighs shaking.

He shook his head, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he slammed his hips harder into hers. "I can't hear you..."

The new pressure quickly built up, leaving Bulma breathless. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm so close..."

"You gonna cum?"

"Uh-huh..."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, fucking hell, yes!"

"Cum for me, now. Ngh...cum on that cock now..."

"Oh, FUCK.."

He groaned as she tightened around him.

She screamed as his hands tightened slightly around her throat, her voice hoarse from the intensity.

The world stopped spinning...and went dark.

There was a knock on the door.

Bulma groaned, rolling over and burying herself in the sheets.

A doorknob clicked, followed by footsteps.

She groaned, "Mom, I don't have to be at the theater till 3:30. Let me sleep."

A man laughed lightly. "Well, you can't be here."

Her eyes snapped open and Bulma sat up abruptly.

A man, bald and freaking huge with his rippling muscles and thick eyebrows, looked away quickly. “Can you cover yourself up, at least?” he asked, bored.

Suddenly, the air was definitely too cold around her breasts. Bulma looked down, shrieked, and yanked the blanket up to cover her chest. Her cheeks flushed crimson.

_What the fuck was happening?!_

“You’ll find the bathroom and a fresh set of clothes to your left. My master then requests that you leave, as he’s too busy today to deal with pleasantries,” he explained curtly. “He also thanks you for...” The bald man cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. ”The ‘good time’ last night.” He then exited through the double doors, closing them decidedly behind him.

_Click_.

Apparently, she wasn’t supposed to leave that way.

She swallowed.

Fingers clenched the blanket to her tighter.

The room was well-furnished, definitely one of the upper-floor hotel suites in West City. Dark wood bed with navy blue sheets. Wide-windowed view of the distant mountains. Tan carpeting stretching across the floor that felt comfortable on Bulma’s bare feet.

Whoever had been in the bed with her - from her foggy recollection of last night - left not that long ago; the sheets were still warm.

She gathered up the sheet haphazardly, still flushed from her encounter with the bulky stranger. What was it about the past twenty-four hours with her and strangers? She flicked on the lights of the nice-enough bathroom and looked over the clothes with a critical eye, lost in thought.

_A white tank top and khakis..._

She grimaced; it was something but, fuck, did she have to? Bulma put on the outfit quickly and looked about.

There was a door next to the bathroom with a peephole. She assumed, rightly, that it was her way outside...but then she glared at the double doors. _But first..._

“Where the hell is Bulma?!” Shin yelled panic and anger spread across the tiny man’s face. All of the performers in the dressing room, men on one side and women on the other, were in various states of undress and rushing to do their costumes. Makeup was wiped on, zippers were zipped, but all chatter came to a halt when the director stormed in. Receiving no answer, Shin rushed out to the hallway screaming for the stage manager.

Chi Chi let out an audible breath, buttoning her earrings on quickly. The purple pinafore she wore draped over her curves modestly. “I really wish she would answer my calls.“

Lazuli next to her, decked out in an all-white gown, shrugged and continued putting on her mascara. “Who knows,” she chatted. “Maybe she found a hot date.”

“I doubt it.” Chi Chi laughed to herself, brushing her long, black hair back in a neat bun. “Bulma’s not one for one-night stands.”

While taking heavy breaths, Bulma ran towards the stage doors. Hair in disarray, no makeup to speak of, she was beyond happy that her makeup bag was already here. Being one of the top singers in the company, she had been assigned an individual dressing room to share with the lead soprano.

_Maybe when she knocked that ditz off of her high horse it would be just her ro-_

Bulma has flung open the door and smacked right into a hard body. She rubbed her head, cursing herself for worsening her already aching head. “Excuse me, I was just-“

“Being rude as all hell, apparently,” said the body as it turned around with a glare.

She gasped.

His eyes widened slightly, though the grim line of his mouth didn’t change. She knew those lips.

_Why was he here?_

“Oh, Bulma! There you are!” shouted Shin, relief evident on his face. “I want you to meet Vegeta, Prince of Saiya. He’s our new bass-baritone addition to the company.”

Her eyes were like saucers.

_WHAT?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special thank you to my readers, followers, and Patreon Blues and Princes:
> 
> Candela Ficarrotta, GreyMochila, Bee, Mrs. Yuuwaku, Rasilina, AutumnToxicity, and Loreal Davis
> 
> I love you all ❤️
> 
> Be sure to follow me on Twitter @MelodiesVegebul for updates, behind the scenes stuff, and mini-smuts.


	4. Night of Arias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here we are with a brand new chapter! Thank you so much for your patience with this. Enjoy some Vegebul tension and trouble brewing at the opera house... This week has TWO songs, each being what our leads are singing for the evening show.
> 
> Artist and Song: When I Am Laid in Earth (Dido and Aneas) by Henry Purcell
> 
> Artist and Song: Cavatina: Largo al factotum della citta (The Barber of Seville) by Gioacchino Rossini
> 
> The Twitter hint for the chapter was in reference to Vegeta's song. At the very beginning of Mrs. Doubtfire, Robin Williams sings the most popular verse of this song!
> 
> DBZ and the music inspiring each chapter do not belong to me. Please support to official releases of these products.
> 
> Enjoy! xoxo

“Well, Bulma?” Shin asked with an odd tone, eyes flicking back and forth between the two singers. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Her eyes narrowed at the black-haired bass-baritone who gave a similar look back. Vegeta, his name was. A name as pompous as the smug attitude that seemed to waft off of him. In the daylight, Bulma was irritated to admit that he was just as good-looking as under darkness. The leather jacket and pants had been exchanged out for a spotless suit and tie, an odd crimson cape draped over his right shoulder as well... 

_Dramatic effect most likely, the ass._

But, appearances were to be kept, of course. So, with a sticky sweet smile she said, “Welcome to our esteemed company, your grace.”

He flashed a full set of pearly whites at her cockily. “So, you do have manners after all. I was beginning to wonder.”

A match was struck in Bulma. Her eyes blazed. Her mouth opened wide, but before anything could be done Shin hurriedly said, “Quickly! Now, go get dressed. If you’re not in warm ups in 10 minutes, you’re in for it Miss Briefs. Go!” 

There was so little time to think. With arms doing their best to cover her chest - _fuck, why don’t I have a bra NOW of all moments?_ \- Bulma was hurried without another word to him to her dressing room. Thoughts ran through her mind almost as quickly as her feet did on the linoleum. Voices chattered excitedly as she passed the group stressing room into her room’s hallway. 

_What a pompous asshole!_

She hardly noticed another bluenette sitting at the dressing table, applying much too little finishing powder, as Bulma walked in and closed the door. Her fingers automatically combed the costume rack, located her pieces for the evening, and sat down at a spore stool. Bulma was halfway through lifting her shirt off of her head when she caught a full whiff of herself. 

_Kami...I even still smell like that creep!_

“If you need the shower, it should be aired out by now,” Maron informed happily, flashing a bright but ditsy smile. 

With as much genuine feeling as she could muster without throwing up, Bulma said her thanks and went back to dressing. A shower would have to wait for now; there wasn’t enough time to get the corset on and make it to warm ups on time.

_Today‘s just going beautifully..._

Outside of the opera house, just as the sky was being painted with the lightest hint of orange sherbet. For the specialty Night of Arias, high-paying contributors to South City's theatrical district began lining up their sleeked vehicles in valet access. They chatted merrily, feminine voices ringing with bell-like laughter as they addressed their friends while their husbands' low prongs chuckled and tittled. Every gloved hand, clad with shining eyeglasses on rods, was kissed and shook by the opera's director. Shin schmoozed and charmed the patrons with two towering, unfamiliar faces behind him. One smiled politely at passersby while the other only seemed to encourage with nothing more than mild boredom.

Yet, there they stood. Allowing the director to do his job while they waited patiently to do theirs...

A chorus of voices rang through the blackened room, each member standing in their various costumes and makeups. Bulma did her best to ignore the figure standing opposite her, in his stupid cream shirt and tea-stained slacks that hugged every fucking curve like it was their job, and focused on the scales. Though most of the females of the group seemed to hate the corsets they were forced to stuff themselves into, she adored it. Her already attractive figure blossomed even more, the shapeliness of her bust and hips amplified by the chiton she wore. Her aria for the evening, taken from the tragedy of Dido and Aneas, called for classical Grecian wear to be dawned. Good thing Bulma looked fabulous in anything she ever wore.

"Hey, B," a voice next to her said quickly before joining in the next step of scales. Bulma turned to see Yamcha, a bright smile on his face. The Viking armor that hung haphazardly on his shoulders might've looked out of place on anyone else. But the scar over his eye seemed to make him pull it off. "You okay?"

She turned away, arms crossing as her body dismissed the statement. Despite everything that happened yesterday, she was still incredibly hurt by what he did. What right did he have to make out with another woman in front of me?

_A finger brushed her lips._

_She moaned, sucking it in her mouth._

_He grunted, breathing heavy._

_She saw stars as her brain went cloudy._

Her eyes closed for a moment as the memories flooded her mind. "You're not still mad at me, are you?" Yamcha asked, misunderstanding her sudden change in demeanor. "It really was just me having fun last night. I didn't mean anything by it."

The piano stopped playing.

Soft claps were heard around them as the voices halted.

"Alright everyone," Oolong announced, a headset hugging his oddly-shaped head. "Ten minutes till curtain."

Mutterings of "thank you, ten" sounded through the air as people began to scatter.

Bulma looked back to the male beside her. Concern shadowed his features. Meantime, she did the best to cover the guilt she was sure to be in hers. "No, Yamcha," she said softly. "I'm not mad. Let's just...forget about it." A smile that was far more confident than she actually felt followed her words. It's purpose worked; Yamcha sighed in relief and pulled her in for a tight hug. Her arms hung limply at her sides as she half-rested her head on his shoulder.

Those white teeth came out to nibble on her bottom lip nervousness.

Then, she noticed a pair of black eyes staring at her...

Vegeta sat in the small space, letting his new company members chatter around him - mainly a tall, messy-haired one who's named he couldn't quite remember - as he watched the scene before him. The woman from yesterday, the one from the club, was talking with a simple-minded tenor in front of him. Her face was...a mixture of unreadable emotions. But he did not fail to notice the hurried glances she sent his way before huffing in irritation.

The frown that was already on his face deepened as he watched her be led away. Honestly, he had no clue that his one-night-stand would happen to be working in the same company as him. Let alone, a lead mezzo-soprano. The confident that wafted off of her enticed him, just as he had the evening previously, but the attitude was irritating. There was a sarcastic defiance in her gaze whenever they met eyes, now.

_Perhaps that was my own fault..._

The Prince was never one for dealing with the common folk outside of his needs needing to be met. When he encountered a female which he desired, on the rare occasion he took one, he normally left his attendants to deal with them. But this one...

For once, he wanted to stay in bed afterward. The female with striking blue hair had passed out from the intensity of her orgasms and landed in a heap on his hotel room bed. Curled tangled in every direction. Mouth hanging agape in subconscious pleasure and alcoholic influence. Vegeta almost, almost joined her in that stupor after their fuck-fest.

_The woman was an energetic participant, after all..._

Still, he shouldn't let his libido get the best of him. Straightening himself, he stood and walked away from the conversation. A few gasps of bewilderment followed as he exited the room; apparently, someone had been trying to talk to him without him noticing. "Hmm." His feet carried him backstage, hands nested in his pockets comfortably, as the darkness of the wings took over his vision.

The hum of the backstage corridor became muted here, silence being of the essence when the house was filling. Voices picked and chirped beyond the velvet valance as black-clothed stage hands bustled about to done finishing touches. This night, he supposed, they had their work cut out for them. Every aria and performance required different sets to be created and staged within under a few minutes. And, as always, in complete darkness. South City Opera, however, was known for the efficiency of their technicians and back-stage workers. At the moment, the floor had opened up into a large sand pit and a member of crew was sweeping stray bits into the hole. From the house, it would look as if the entire stage floor was the desert. Especially with the floor-to-ceiling painted flats behind them being lit as a Greecian sky. Yet, that wasn't the case.

Vegeta's eyes, however, were focused on upstage. There was the woman again - Bulma, that was her name - standing beside a brunette. They talked silently for a moment before stopping. He watched as this enigma stretched her body, taking deep breaths, before stepping with bare feet out on to the stage. The black-haired woman behind her stayed in place, giving Bulma space to tune in.

The orchestra, which had been playing ambiguously up until now with previews of the night's pieces, stopped.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he heard Shin announce over the speakers. "Thank you for coming to tonight's performance. Our Night of Arias, as you know, signifies the introduction to the South City Opera's new season. We hope you enjoy, for your listening and entertainment pleasure, tonight's selection. Thank you."

A crescendo of applause sounded as the curtains rose.

Torches lined along the wing curtains simultaneously lit.

The orchestra began to play a low, solemn tune.

The bluenette's eyes opened slowly as she began to sing.

He watched as she reached for the woman behind her, the music seeming to flow through her. Every moment seemed rehearsed to meticulous perfection, each curl on her head even pinned just so for effect. For the first verse, she fell gently to the sand below. The creaminess of her gown seemed to melt each curve he'd learned into the grains beneath her.

The pitch climbed, volume growing and sinking with effect. Every note hit precisely with pieces of improvisational sorrow etched in.

Her form sunk lower as the song built, her voice ringing through the theater, and then dropped as she laid down. The company, all having moved into their places without Vegeta's notice, sang their parts. Those fragile, thin hands, each clutching bunches of earth, began to rise up and drop the grains on to her form.

His eyes widened.

_She's burying herself..._

Then, she went still as the sopranos rang out from the wings. From here, he could see her diaphragm move in small, quick bursts - shortening her breath - while, to the viewers, she would look dead. Motionless.

Music stopped.

Silence.

And then roaring applause as the curtains were drawn.

"Great job, Bulma!" the brunette praised, her voice slightly choked up. "You really got me that time."

She gave a smile, starting to say something before she locked eyes with him.

He narrowed his, staring her down.

A freezing glare was his answer, before she stood awkwardly and walked aside to brush herself off.

"Tch."

_What did she matter anyway? Just some simple whore for a night of fun. I have a job to do..._

  
  


"What was that about?" Chi Chi asked, watching as her best friend barged into her dressing room and began angrily undressing. "Don't you have to keep that on?"

Bulma sighed, fingers itching to rub her eyes in frustration. _Fucking curtain call..._

_Fucking makeup..._

_Fucking Vegeta..._

How was it that one man's actions, not even his rude words, could rile her up this much? She understood last night was a one-time thing. She didn't expect anything different. Maybe it was the combination of having to almost-lie to Yamcha's face about last night AND see his royal-pain here in person at the same time. Either way, Bulma just found herself exhausted. And very dirty. "I know," she explained with a sigh. "I just need a shower. I...didn't get one this morning."

The brunette's eyes furrowed. "Why? Didn't you make it back home?"

"Not exactly."

Before Chi Chi could ask more, up beat music began to play over the back-stage speakers. A low baritone began lilting casually as clapping was heard. She gasped, "The new baritone! Let's go watch!" And, before Bulma could even object, she was suddenly being yanked down the hall again. She smiled politely as Chi Chi dragged her back on stage was whispering excitedly. Though she was irritated with the asshole, there was a curiosity as to what made this Prince so special.

_Maybe she'd stay for a verse or two..._

The Barber of Seville, with strikingly tall black hair, stood center stage next to a cart. The background had been shifted out for that of an Italian village, complete with a morning sun. He sang down left confidently, swinging a clean towel over his upstage shoulder. Those brown-booted feet carried him around the barber's cart casually, thick hands toying with the props there a naturally as breathing.

She watched as a sparkle lit his face, along with a grin bigger than anything she'd seen on his face yet, spread. That devilish tongue flicked over the complicated string of Italian syllables with ease, as if he'd been rehearsing this piece for decades. Or he was a native of the area.

Much to her dismay, Bulma noticed when he turned back to view the wings their eyes locked. His voice dropped with the written notes, a smug glint in his smile sending a shiver down her spine.

"Whew," Chi Chi breathed quietly. "That was something, huh?"

Bulma stayed quiet, observing the Prince perform.

_He's something alright..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you my readers here on Ao3 and followers everywhere.
> 
> A very special shoutout to my Patreon supporters (my beautiful Blues, Princes, Super Blues, and Saiyans): 
> 
> Candela Ficarrotta, GreyMochila, Bee, Mrs. Yuuwaku, Rasilina, AutumnToxicity, Loreal Davis, Coli Lynch, Ayla Bo, and AlphaSheWolf
> 
> I love you all ❤️
> 
> Be sure to follow me on Twitter @MelodiesVegebul for updates, behind the scenes stuff, and mini-smuts.


	5. Auditions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Get ready for some tension and surprises! 
> 
> DBZ and the music inspiring each chapter do not belong to me. Please support to official releases of these products.
> 
> Artist and Song: The Queen of the Night Aria by Mozart
> 
> (the official German name for the song is given in this chapter. Give it a listen! It's a pretty great song for showing off, like Bulma definitely does 😘)
> 
> Enjoy xoxo

The rehearsal room door swung open suddenly, a familiar large figure now occupying the doorway. Bulma’s head snapped toward the intruder, now occupied on what they wanted instead of the mirror in front of her. He gave a similar mocking smile to what she’d receive just a few days prior before announcing, “You’re done in this room.”

Her hands balled into fists, propping themselves on her hips. A venomous smile spread across her lips. “Like hell I am. Find another room; there’s dozens of them. Or wait like a normal person.”

The muscles brute opened his mouth but suddenly a voice sounded from the hall. “Nappa,” he commanded. “Go find another room. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  
Her blood froze as he walked in. Those black eyes tearing every piece of her tasteful black cocktail dress to pieces. Vegeta huffed, taking the door handle from his attendant. “You’re as bad as the plague, woman,” he growled, closing the door behind him. Leaving them alone. 

  
Her eyes narrowed before Bulma turned back to the mirror. “You’re more than welcome to fuck off,” she quipped back, taking a blazé tone. “No one invited you in here in the first place.”

  
To be honest, Bulma hoped she would avoid running into him today. After last night’s performance went off without a hitch (mostly), she promptly went home and tucked herself into bed without a word to anyone. For years she’d been working towards the top spot in the company, regardless of her trainer’s opinions on her vocal range, and she had no intention of screwing things up. 

  
She woke herself this morning with the intention of success. Long bath to start, powdering her sensual skin with what made her feel the absolute best. Then donning the most comfortable and complementary audition outfit she owned before nourishing her body with a light breakfast. 

  
Like most audition days, the air was thick with tension. Everyone filled out their forms and handed in updated resumes to the stage manager in silence. Persons scattered throughout the building, quietly humming scales and melodies to themselves in preparation. Some meditated in the corner, like the stoic Piccolo. Others let the nervousness out with laps through the corridors, like Krillin and Goku. Bulma, on the other hand, claimed one of the rehearsal rooms for solitude. 

  
At least until a certain asshole walked in. 

  
Said being chuckled to himself before plopping down aristocratically at the empty piano bench. The lid stayed closed but the ran his hands along the surface experimentally, as if he was afraid of breaking the instrument. Bulma pretended to ignore him all the while, focusing rather on her makeup while running the difficult nuance of notes through her head.

Despite Roshi’s warnings, she had insisted on doing the Queen of the Night’s aria as her audition piece. “Too popular,” the old pervert had said. 

  
_Whatever. They haven’t heard anyone sing it like me yet..._

  
“You know,” he started, leaning against the black wood. “I didn’t expect to see you with a puppy here yesterday.”

  
Her eyes widened in confusion, then understanding, then irritation. She turned towards him slowly, bitterness running through her. “What is it with you and consistently wanting to ruin my good moods? What kind of asinine comment was that?”

  
“Really? I thought I made you quite happy a few nights ago.” Mocking glee and curiosity covered the Saiyan’s features. 

  
“That never happened,” she spat. 

  
“Are you sure? Because I surely do remember it.” He stood to full height, knowing just how impressive he looked in today’s suit and tie ensemble and what it probably did to her. Those feet, clad in freshly polished leather shoes, clicked as he stepped closer to her. “In fact, I remember you screaming for more underneath me.”

  
Her hand flicked up to slap him - hard - across the face. Now it was his turn to look surprised. Vegeta brought a hand up to his reddened cheek, watching borderline-fumes coming out of Bulma’s ears. With a deathly quiet voice and a finger pointed at his smug face, she whispered, “We. Never. Happened. And, whatever you think happened, will never happen again.” Her eyes blazed with anger, her body oozing dominance and rage. “We are coworkers within this company. Nothing more. So, whatever you are trying to achieve out of egging me on like this is futile. Now, I have a lead soprano spot to claim. Good. Bye.”

  
She gathered her bag, which had been placed on the ground, and made her way towards the door. Yet, at the last minute, she heard Vegeta say, “Bulma.”

  
She stopped moving for a moment. Her head cocked slightly to the side.

  
There was a sudden warmth behind her as she felt him step closer. An involuntary shiver tickled her spine; those full lips leaned in close to her ear. “I’ll see you in your dreams tonight,” he teased lightly, the accented drawl of his voice accentuating dramatically. A large hand took the door handle from her grasp and pushed the wood open. 

  
Without looking back, Bulma huffed and walked away. Shivers continued down her spine from his words, his proximity. Her shoulders twitched as she made her way to the stage door, doing their best to shake the feeling away. 

She knew at some point she was going to have to, guiltily, tell Yamcha what happened between the two of them. Though they had decided to make their relationship more open - a warning sign she should have taken as their need to end everything then and there - there was this...nagging in the back of her mind. She never really knew, without a doubt, that he’d slept with someone else. Flirted, yes. Made out? Blatantly so. But sex... that was a whole other ballpark. 

  
Her body stopped automatically outside of the doors to the main stage, thoughts racing. The soft clamping of her heels reverbated through the empty space. Somewhere behind the steel doors beside her a man sang out into the mostly empty seats of the theater. 

  
She didn’t have time to worry about this now. There were more important things right now than her sex life. Or even romance in general. More than once, Bulma thought of giving up the entire ordeal of ‘love’. In show business, there was little time for healthy relationships. Those who had partners outside of the arts needed financially stable work and rarely saw their spouses during the day. Others, like her and Yamcha had been till this point, had loved ones in the arts as well...but that usually backfired. Someone’s career was taking a backseat to the other’s. 

  
_And it’s looking more and more like we’ll have to split just to stay sane..._

  
The door opened to reveal a tall, bronze-skinned man. A light grey suit decorated his frame tastefully as he regarded Bulma with pure stoicism. She gave a polite nod before Piccolo walked down the hallway; maybe it was her imagination, but there was more of a confident pep in his step today. 

  
Oolong looked up at the bluenette from his place at the door. “You ready?” he asked quietly. 

  
She nodded, squishing the sudden flutter of butterflies in her gut down, and followed him on stage. Today, the wings were void of the previous night’s props and scenery. Space was now made for the set crew to design the first show of the season and set pieces aside for the following. Bulma found some peace within the mostly-black interior, catching her breath as the stage manager walked through a set of curtains ahead of her. She stayed where she was, waiting patiently with nervous fingers itching to chip away her nail polish; those curtains led directly to the audience. Specifically where the wheelchair section was. Once called, all performers were meant to walk through the main stage curtains to center. The director, along with whoever else decided to sit in on auditions that day, normally sat in the middle of the blank rows of seats to observe quietly. 

  
There was some chatter from the other side before she heard Oolong introduce her. 

_Back straight..._   
_Stance neutral..._   
_Walk casually but with a purpose..._

Bulma grinned with an extra dose of charm as she made her way center stage. There Shin was, in his usual spot in the middle of the room with a notepad in hand. He shared her smile as she came in. “Good morning, Bulma!” he greeted cheerfully. 

  
“And good morning to you as well, Director,” she drawled charismatically.

  
“Before you officially begin, I’d like to introduce our guests.” He turned slightly in his seat, gesturing behind him. Two men in varying stature and seriousness sat two rows behind him. One was very slim and tall, a bright white coif of hair styled atop his head. The brightness of his eyes was complemented by the paleness of his skin. However, the other gentleman seemed to be his complete opposite. Long dark hair perched into a bump on his head, spiraling into braids as the length wrapped around to his left shoulder. Black eyes - with yellow around the edges? - stared her down with disinterest from across the room. There was muscle beneath the wrapped cloth covering his body, but not too much. His arms were crossed in dominance with a side of boredom, while the other sat back casually in almost refinement. “These are the opera’s new financiers,” Shin explained. “Lord Beerus and Whis.” The later nodded amicably while the former just seemed to stare into space “The Lords very much wanted to view this year’s talent personally and take part in the audition process.” He gave a nervous but reassuring smile at that, returning to a front position with his body. 

  
Keeping the surprise out of her features, Bulma politely said with a bow, “Thank you for offering your assistance to our wonderful theatre, my lords. We won’t disappoint.”  
Seeming satisfied, Shin motioned for her to continue. 

_Breathe..._   
_Smile..._   
_Relax..._

”Good morning. My name is Bulma Briefs, lead mezzo-soprano of the South City Opera Company. Today, I'll be performing ’Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen’ from Die Zauberflöte by Amadeus Mozart...”

  
Bulma fell back on her bed with an exhausted huff, mind racing from the events of the day. A tired hand rested thoughtlessly on her forehead, propping itself there as she closed her eyes against the world. 

  
She never felt less confident after an audition as she did today. Not a single reaction from the financiers or Shin. Just a request to keep her phone on her, in case she was ’called back’. Call backs had never been Bulma’s thing. True, it meant that they weren’t sure who to cast certain people as - meaning they would be in the production somehow - but the tension didn't help anything. 

  
Not that anything she tried to do for relaxation helped afterwards, either. As tradition for them, Chi-Chi, Lazuli, and Bulma took themselves out to sushi after their auditions were done. They got to unwind and distract each other from the dreaded phantom calls their phones were making. Instead, Yamcha invited himself along. Instead of eating and chatting with her friends, Bulma ended up boxing all of her order and mindlessly pushing a lump of ginger around her plate as her boyfriend rambled. 

  
She sighed. A hand snatched a pillow from its usual spot at the top of the bed and plopped it on her face. 

  
_Could this get any worse?_

_Ring..._   
_Ring..._

Bulma was up like a shot, snatching the phone off of the bed and bringing it to her ear quickly. ”Hello?” 

  
”Hey, B! What're you doing?” Yamcha sounded from the other end, way too cheery for her taste. 

  
Her teeth ground as a fake giddiness took over her voice. ”Waiting for the call about auditions. What do you want?”

  
”I was just thinking of swinging by, if you want. I've got nothing to do for the rest of the day and I-”

_Buzz..._   
_Buzz..._

Bulma gasped, pulling the phone away to look at the screen. It was Oolong! ”Babe, I love you. But I need to answer another really quick. Okay, bye!” she rushed out before ending the connection. With a gentler tone, Bulma said, ”Bulma here!”

  
”Hey Bulma, it's Oolong, ” a nasally tone sounded through the receiver. 

  
”Oolong!” she borderline-screeched in a sticky sweet tone. ”What’s up?”

  
”Shin is asking if you can come to the theater again in two hours for callbacks. We need to run through a few songs and then the final role postings can be made.”

  
Giggling with glee to herself, It's a start! Bulma answered, ”Of course! I shall be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you my readers here on Ao3 and followers everywhere. I read each and every comment you give and, even though I don't always reply, the thankfulness I have for you is boundless. 
> 
> A very special shoutout to my Patreon supporters (my beautiful Blues, Princes, Super Blues, and Saiyans): 
> 
> Candela Ficarrotta, GreyMochila, Bee, Mrs. Yuuwaku, Rasilina, AutumnToxicity, Loreal Davis, Coli Lynch, Ayla Bo, AlphaSheWolf, Holli, and Sara Beth 
> 
> I love you all ❤️
> 
> Be sure to follow me on Twitter @MelodiesVegebul for updates, behind the scenes stuff, and mini-smuts.


	6. Results

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here’s our next chapter! Hopefully it's flowing well; I sometimes struggle with writing plot in between points where I'd rather be. But enjoy either way!
> 
> Just a warning that this fic is going to feature Yamcha more than I usually do. He’s our antagonist so get prepped for the angst.
> 
> DBZ and the music inspiring each chapter do not belong to me. Please support to official releases of these products.
> 
> Artist and Song: The Middle by Zedd

“What did you think, Bulma?” a soft voice asked, pulling her back to the present suddenly.   
  
The bluenette took her eyes off of the avocado and crab rolls in front of her, giving a fake smile as she shook the cobwebs away. Chi Chi was looking at her expectantly, if not a little concerned. “It was fine. Nothing to worry about,” she said casually. Her hand reached for the glass in front of her, casually sipping the burgundy liquid to avoid saying more. 

“See, Chi-Chi? You worry too much!” Goku chimed in with a face too inappropriately stuffed with wantons but too little self-awareness to care. 

They met at Tomo Sushi, just like usual after auditions, though later than usual. The restaurant was now buzzing with the evening rush crowd, groups of adults chatting in between glasses of plum wine and scarfing down dragon rolls almost as quickly as they were laid out. 

Usually, she would be thrilled to sit and chat with her friends. Their presence was a balm on the after-audition jitters that threatened to hinder her. But this time-

A muscled arm threw itself around her shoulders, making Bulma yelp. Yamcha leaned in close, snuggling his cheek against hers. “Exactly!” he exclaimed. “There’s nothing my girl can’t do. That callback was just for show, I know it.” He beamed down at her, silently waiting for a reaction. 

She chuckled uncomfortably but continued smiling back. “Right. Thanks, Yamcha...”

Her friend’s eyes flickered from Yamcha to Bulma, casual in her concern. “But didn’t the new baritone say that it went brutally for everyone? Even Lazuli said they had you all run through the opening song eight or nine times alone. No wonder it took over an hour...”

Goku smiled, at least swallowing before he opened his mouth to talk. Ungracefully, he started shanking the individual pieces of tuna and salmon in front of him with the wooden chopstick, making an obscure-looking kebab. “It wasn’t that hard. The guys just were traded out of the scene, trying different parts, while Bulma and Lazuli sang their part. It was sure fun trying out the low bass again! It’s been a while since Shin had me do that part. Piccolo might get that, though. He sounded great during his turn.”

Yamcha took a quick drink of the fizzy drink in front of him, condensation from the bottle, leaving an unnoticed wet ring on the wood as it was lifted away. “How is that new baritone, anyway? Vegetable-something? He looked a little intense.”

Bulma stiffened. Eyes diverting downwards to her plate, she stayed quiet as she heard her friends answer. 

“Ah, Vegeta!” Goku exclaimed enthusiastically, a bright smile spreading across his face. “He’s great! Excellent tone and vibrato. It doesn’t surprise me that they sent him from Vegetasei to perform here.”

She bit her lip before taking a minuscule bite of her food. Goku was right after all: Vegeta could sing. For callbacks, they were given selections from Don Giovanni to perform with the other performers on stage. He had stood there confidently, proud in that well-tailored suit with a cocky glint in his eyes as precise notes flowed from his mouth. 

The only issue - besides the fact that she slept with him - was his attitude. When he wasn’t on stage, being charismatic and charming while singing, he was snarling and being downright rude to the other cast members. Those black eyes would silently judge until his mouth opened to do it not-so-silently. 

Yet, if she was honest with herself, that wasn’t the issue here. Yeah, he was a prick. Bulma knew she was a hardcore bitch and a bit of a prima-donna sometimes. There were very few brave enough who could duke it out with her verbally, let alone match her brains AND good looks. But...she liked him. She wanted what happened between them just a few days ago. Right, didn’t expect him to be a prince but, fuck, if it wasn’t the best sex she had in a long time. 

She eyed her boyfriend out of the corner of her eye. Yamcha was laughing with Goku, chatting idly about something. Bulma critically looked over his face, his chest and arms. He was attractive, in a bad-boy-gone-good kind of way. The scar across his face she found endearing. That stuff never really mattered to her anyway. In the beginning, what drew her was his looks and that boyish shyness. It was incredibly sweet watching him flounder and fumble over his words. She had hoped that, over time, that would change into confidence as he got to know her. 

But it never did. 

He still fumbled over his words. He didn’t understand her mind, her hopes, or her dreams. He didn’t understand her need for alone time or routine. If she wanted a night alone, he took it personally. 

Not to mention for years, Bulma had been trying to get him to change things up sexually. Yamcha was an incredibly gentle man for his size, which was fine. He never wanted to hurt her, not even a hickey or holding her too tight. The few times she’d asked for more - ‘Just pin me against the wall this time!’ - he looked uncomfortable and not in it. So now she just found herself...laying there, going through the motions. She’d kiss him and be so much in her head that nothing sparked. Her body would respond with just the right amount of wetness to get him off after two minutes while she laid underneath him, staring at the ceiling, thinking to herself, ‘I really don’t want to be here.’ No orgasms. Just...wanting to get it over with. 

She loved him. Or, at least she did once upon a time. 

_Ring..._  
_Ring..._

Bulma absentmindedly pulled her phone out, not bothering to pay attention to the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Hey, Bulma! It’s Oolong!” a snorting voice sounded from the other line. 

Snapping out of her thoughts, her eyes widened as she answered. “Hey there! What’s up?”

His voice rang through the static of voices around them, making Bulma have to cover her other ear to hear properly. “We’ve been informed by Maron that she’s not going to be apart of our company for this season. So, Shin and the financiers would like to offer you the lead soprano and mezzo-soprano roles for this year. It would be work heavy, doing a few shows at the same time, but-“

“I’ll take it!” she borderline screamed in ecstasy, bouncing in her seat. A few heads turned, and everyone at her table, to look at her sudden outburst. “I’ll take it!”

A sigh of relief was heard on the other line. “Great, thanks, Bulma! Read throughs will be tomorrow at 10:00 sharp and the full cast list will be posted for the shows by tomorrow. Be sure to pick up your scripts from Roshi first thing in the morning.”

She nodded enthusiastically, grinning wide. Mouthing the news to Chi-Chi - who responded with her own excited squeal as she clutched Goku’s right arm - Bulma said, “You can count on me! I’ll be there.”

“Great! Now, is Goku with you?”

“Yeah, just a second.” She handed the phone out to him, who looked at her with confusion for a moment. “It’s Oolong! Take it, silly,” she urged. 

A spark ran through his gaze for a moment before the phone was taken. Chi Chi giggled quietly, “Congrats, Bulma!” before watching Goku’s expression intently. 

“What’d he say?” Yamcha asked, quizzed.

She beamed at him. “I’m going to be the lead soprano and mezzo for this season!”

Those black brows lifted. “Wow, you actually got it. Great job, babe. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Her confidence wilted. _What?_

Bulma’s phone flipped shut with a soft clang of plastic before Goku handed it back. “Thanks, B!” She gave a smile, not nearly as bright, and tucked it away in her purse. 

“So? What happened?” Chi-Chi asked expectantly. Her hands absentmindedly rubbed his arm, fingers curling around the sleeve of his dress shirt. 

“Oh, he said he wanted me one of the principle bass-baritones for the season,” he answered with a smile before stuffing his face with a mouthful of rice. That smile only spread more as Chi Chi’s squeals of praise began ringing through the restaurant, and she shook him in excitement. 

“Hey, Yam,” Bulma called quietly, grabbing his attention. “Can I talk to you for a second? We’ll be right back guys.”

She led him outside. Arms crossed as her thoughts ran a million miles an hour. People passed by, chatting with umbrellas blocking themselves from the sprinkling rain coming down—the sun-kissed the sky in a deep maroon as it set behind the skyline. The awning above them twiddled with falling raindrops as she breathed out a puff of visible air. 

_I have to do it..._  
_After that, I really have to do it..._

“So, what’s up?” he asked, looking over her with curiosity.

Bulma sighed, brushed her hair behind one ear. Her arms hugged herself tighter. Hesitantly, she started, “I...need to talk to you about that night at the club. Before the arias.

Yamcha sighed, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I thought we were okay with that. I told you nothing happened.”

“Yeah, with you. But something did with me.”

That caught his attention. “What?”

She shrugged, doing her best to maintain eye contact despite the fluttering in her stomach. “When I told you I was going to...have fun, I meant it. So...I met someone. And I did.”

He stood there a moment, looking out at the rainy street. Long puff clouds of air left his nose as he thought. She just stood still, watching his face. Yet when he finally spoke, she didn’t expect him to say, “Okay.”

  
Her brow furrowed. “Okay? You’re not upset?”

  
“I mean, I’ve probably done worse while we’re together. We both know I haven’t been the most...faithful. So how can I get mad at you for making a mistake?”

  
_It wasn’t, though._ “Oh.”

  
Yamcha smiled at her, almost a ghost of how he used to when they first met. “It’s alright, B. It was a one-time thing, right?”

_Her eyes rolled back._  
_Her arms went weak, though her fingers clung to his wrist, begging him to stay._  
_His hips relentlessly drove that rock-hard shaft deep inside of her, over and over. Every thrust, every sting, making Bulma soak the sheets even further._

Bulma bit her lip, eyes wavering to look at a man passing by over Yamcha’s shoulder. He wore a wide brim hat that collected rain as one hand held a brown bag, and the other grasped a small child’s hand. They dropped something, making the man look down. Water spilled off of his hat to their feet as his head tilted. 

_“I’ll see you in your dreams tonight,” he teased lightly, the accented drawl of his voice accentuating dramatically._

“Yeah. One time. But I don’t want to be with someone when I’ve...cheated on them, Yamcha. It’s not fair to either of us.”

  
He shrugged. “I don’t think you did. We’ve always had an open dynamic, anyway. Plus, it was just a mistake.”

  
_No. We never did. But now I know you took it that way..._

  
“Why don’t you think about it for a while?” he continued. “See if that spark can come back for us? I just don’t want to end things yet, B.”

Bulma said nothing, hating herself. 

  
She didn’t say anything as he pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. Her arms hung limp at her sides as she refused to let tears fall while Yamcha held her. 

  
And she didn’t say anything when he drove her home, kissing her cheek as she opened her door and ignoring the “Good night” she heard as it closed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you my readers here on Ao3 and followers everywhere. I read each and every comment you give and, even though I don't always reply, the thankfulness I have for you is boundless. 
> 
> A very special shoutout to my Patreon supporters (my beautiful Blues, Princes, Super Blues, and Saiyans): 
> 
> Candela Ficarrotta, GreyMochila, Bee, Mrs. Yuuwaku, Rasilina, AutumnToxicity, Loreal Davis, Coli Lynch, Ayla Bo, AlphaSheWolf, Holli, and Sara Beth 
> 
> I love you all ❤️
> 
> Be sure to follow me on Twitter @MelodiesVegebul for updates, behind the scenes stuff, and mini-smuts. 
> 
> For specific email notification updates on this story, be sure to hit the ‘SUBSCRIBE’ button in the upper right hand corner of your screen.


	7. Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ooo get ready for some shit to go DOWN. Originally, this chapter and the next were one entity. However, I felt like the next chapter needed to be by itself for reasons you'll found out in a little bit.
> 
> DBZ and the music inspiring each chapter do not belong to me. Please support to official releases of these products.
> 
> Artist and Song: I Want You (She’s So Heavy) by Halestorm
> 
> Enjoy! xoxo

”Alright, let's take it from the top!” Shin called out from the house, scribbling notes in his binder. Kibito, the stern-faced stage manager sat in the row behind him. Every move the director called out, he took extra careful note. When water began to get too low in the bottles next to him, or the lead of his pencils were beginning to dull, he was there to deftly change each out. At this moment, he watched each cast member with aggressive authority. They stood by as the company moved into places for the top of Act One. Piccolo and Lazuli moved up the staircase to hide behind the archway while Goku moved behind some pillars far right. ”This time, remember your marks, please.”

The set was already constructed with bare-bones after just a week of rehearsals, the painted flats in the background drying against the wall. Everything was stationary; walls and stairs looking like marble with similar flooring going down tomorrow.

Kami sat in the orchestra pit with a few members of the instrumentalists, turning pages back on his stand. Once everyone was ready, the older man nodded to Shin, hands at the ready.

Bulma bit her lip, wiggling slightly to take the pressure off of her tailbone. While in the wings, the only chairs available were old metal stools. This specific one was killing her back while simultaneously taking the pressure off of her legs. She flipped through the music in her binder, cursing softly. That morning’s rehearsals for all five productions of the season completely screwed the order of her sheet music. Normally, she’d spend the day of read-throughs color coding and marking her parts with a highlighter. But having more work than she usually accounted for left Bulma a bit...frazzled. So, as quietly as possible, she was fixing her papers with a highlighter sticking cap-off out of her mouth as they ran the sequence again.

_No worries; it's not even close to when I come on stage yet._

He gave the signal.

The music started.

Everyone began to move.

First, Goku came from the shadows with a surprisingly low tone. The opening solo of Don Giovanni belonged to him, the introduction of the exposition. Though he was high voiced - usually landing him tenor parts - he had spent the summer working on his lower register.

Bulma smiled to herself as she listened; all that training sure paid off.

A cluttering of footsteps was heard before Lazuli and a familar baritone began to sing. She involuntarily tensed as Vegeta’s voice battled the blonde in duet. Her voice rang out high as he argued with her in Italian, the timbre persuading her to no avail.

_God, this opera is irritating..._

The first show of the season hit her the wrong way. True, she was cast as Zerlina, so it was a step in the right direction for her every expanding range. Not as difficult as the Queen of the Night, but a challenge nonetheless.

It wasn’t that Bulma didn’t want the part; the issue laid in who she had to play the part with.

Suddenly, there was a sounding of three claps from the house. Kibito’s voice sounded, loud and articulate, “Thank you, company. Now we must move into Act One, Scene Three. Quickly, please.”

Those blue eyes widened.

_Fuck, that’s me!_

Bulma scrambled, quickly moving her binder to the floor and snatching the scene’s music from the still-loose pile. With as much decorum as she could muster, she made her way center stage.

Her eyes flickered to the balcony hovering above stage right.

Two tall figures lurked in the shadows, there.

She gulped and continued moving.

Tien, looking a bit flushed from his own scurrying to center, gave Bulma a welcoming smile before facing front. She couldn’t help but grin, feeling a little more contented. Yamcha’s best friend was a wonderful performer and actually made a pretty good friend to her. Though she didn’t know what would happen if - when - she and Yamcha split up, she was thankful he was cast with her.

The sounding of footsteps against wood came to Bulma’s ears. Shin smiled softly, making his way up to center. “Good morning, newlyweds.”

They both chuckled in answer.

“To get started, mark down that your entrance will be from center with the rest of the bachelor company. Then our Leporello” - Goku waved off stage, his own script in hand - “and Giovanni will join you. Tien, you will exit down right with the company leaving Vegeta and Bulma on stage for their duet.” He looked to the other wing before calling out, “Chi-Chi! Let’s see you enter from either side, just to see how it flows, alright?”

“Yes, sir!” a voice sounded from behind one of the curtains.

He grinned at that. “Good! Top of the scene, please.” At that, he began making his way back down to the house.

Bulma knew it was no issue doing the start of the scene. According to the production, her and Tien would joyously come downstage celebrating their proposal with the rest of the cast. Some fake making out, maybe, so they’d be able to sing and look infatuated with each other. No biggie.

It was when-

He stepped out from the left wing, those black eyes pinned her in place. Vegeta grinned, donning the confidence and charm of Don Giovanni with ease. Bulma felt frozen, those her lips continued singing out her part according to the scene.

There wasn’t any blocking for this, just improvisation.

_What’s he going to do?_

As instructed, the company and Tien left offstage with Goku, leaving Vegeta alone with her in center. As the strings sounded the beginning of the duet, Bulma felt herself quiver involuntarily, mind racing, and tried her best to breathe.

Something had changed about the woman - Bulma - in the time they’d spent working together, Vegeta noted. She often avoided eye contact, a blush immediately rising on her cheeks when she noticed she’d been caught staring. That man she was with during his first night here hasn’t been cast, which resulted in him not being near the theater often.

Vegeta normally cared very little for entangling himself in relationships. One night stands were his specialty. Plus, it helped to have attendants like Nappa there to push the eager women away the next morning.

This one, however, refused to acknowledge his presence. He knew they both enjoyed the night they had together - even if he did wish, now, that she hadn’t been so intoxicated during it - but she warned him that ‘it never happened’.

_Hmm..._

The prince was everything, including professional, though. Regardless of bedroom romps, his career came first along with its requirements. So, when his director instructed they work in the scene involving Bulma and him for the first time, no complaint was uttered.

When they began to sing together, two voices reverberating through the space hypnotically as his character attempted to woo hers, he did so with ease.

Yet, it was when he heard those words call out that the problem started: “Now, take her in your arms and seduce her.”

She gulped softly, tensing.

His hand extended, lips and voice still moving with the music.

A shaking, slender hand who’s owner rang out with high note after high note placed itself in his.

His chest nestled aganist her back, like two pieces to a whole, as they both continued the melody with the instrumentalists. They gently swayed together, his hips against her backside.

Her head fell back, cerulean curls spilling dramatically over his arm as the crescendo naturally built.

Like watching a film, Vegeta saw his hand reach out and gently turn that soft chin towards him.

Those bright blue orbs pinned him in place, surprisingly almost making him lose control of his breaths. They were shining against the stage lights in an angelic sort of way, vulnerable and intense. But there was a fire there, lurking in the background. It called to him in the most curious way...it wasn’t an act.

_When had someone ever looked at me that way?_

Without registering how soon the song was to ending, Vegeta felt himself leaning in close to her, his sights set on those pink-tinted lips. From this proximity, he could smell the subtlety of strawberries on the shiny skin there. Though, voice from the back of his mind reminded him how he knew what she tasted like.

Those eyes, endlessly cool and absorbing, fluttering closed.

A confident smirk spread across his face as leaned in dangerously close.

_I want to remind myself-_

Another voice rang out into the air, startling them both. A black-haired woman with wide eyes and a stern look on her face sang in shrill notes at the two of them.

His brow furrowed, momentarily forgetting where he was.

The woman was snatched from his arms, looking frazzled and out of breath; she was just as lost as him.

Then, multiple claps sounded through the air. All heads turned to the house; Shin stood with a proud smile on his face. “Wonderful, company!” he praised. “That was sexy and intense, I loved it. Fabulous job!”

The bluenette cleared her throat. Locking eyes with Vegeta, that flushed look began to slowly fade as she straightened the simple pink dress she wore and pointedly moved off stage.

Vegeta chuckled to himself, looking after her as Shin called for the next scene to be made before moving in the opposite direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you my readers here on Ao3 and followers everywhere. I read each and every comment you give and, even though I don't always reply, the thankfulness I have for you is boundless. 
> 
> A very special shoutout to my Patreon supporters (my beautiful Blues, Princes, Super Blues, and Saiyans): 
> 
> Candela Ficarrotta, GreyMochila, Bee, Mrs. Yuuwaku, Rasilina, AutumnToxicity, Loreal Davis, Coli Lynch, Ayla Bo, AlphaSheWolf, Holli, and Sara Beth 
> 
> I love you all ❤️
> 
> Be sure to follow me on Twitter @MelodiesVegebul for updates, behind the scenes stuff, and mini-smuts. 
> 
> For specific email notification updates on this story, be sure to hit the ‘SUBSCRIBE’ button in the upper right-hand corner of your screen. 


	8. Butterflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning for Yambul ahead; kinda has to happen in this story. Fully expecting hate for this but hopefully the events that are about to happen will make everyone feel better (just a little)
> 
> DBZ and the music inspiring each chapter do not belong to me. Please support to official releases of these products.
> 
> Artist and Song: Bad Kind of Butterflies by Camila Cabello
> 
> Enjoy! xoxo

The darkness of her bedroom envelopes them almost as much as the soft bedspread did. Bulma let out a whimper, closing her eyes, letting her body feel what was happening to her.

His body was close to hers, gripping her right.

That cock pumping in almost the right spot, teasing her to the edge. Not quite long enough, but she could pretend for a little while that it was.

For once, she might be able to feel something...

“Mmm, please...” she begged, her body arching back against the bed. She heard a low grunt in response, those hips pistoning a little faster than before. He was getting close and she knew it.

_Just...a little...more..._

_A finger brushed her lips._

_She moaned, sucking it in her mouth._

_He grunted, breathing heavy._

_She saw stars as her brain went cloudy._

She moaned again, fingers moving up to clutch the headboard almost as tightly as her eyes were squeezing shut. Nothing could ruin the illusion, it had to be perfect.

_Perfect..._

_Perfect..._

_"You gonna cum?"_

“Uh huh,” she answered to the dark-haired vision in her mind.

_"Yeah?"_

Her thighs started to shake. His rhythm faltered. _No! Please, not yet..._ “Ahh! Yes!!”

_"Cum for me, now. Ngh...cum on that cock now-“_

“Shit! Bulma!” he yelled, shaking as he came hard.

She whimpered as his hips suddenly stopped, a painful clenching starting in her lower stomach. Those blue eyes opened, brimming with tears that were soon to spread, as she heard Yamcha begin to stir.

He chuckled to himself, kissing her shoulder. “You haven’t been like that in awhile, huh?” he noted breathlessly. The distinct sound of latex being torn off and toss away in her waste basket appeared.

Bulma swallowed, looking at the darker wall of the room. The moonlight didn’t shine on the side of her face where two tear drops began to fall. “Yeah,” she answered, voice slightly choked.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was steadier this time, normal. “Can you get off of me please?”

He rolled off, breathing heavily. Popping sounds; he was stretching.

Bulma sat up, turning her back to him. Those eyes stared off into nothingness. The pain in her stomach, the ache deep within her core didn’t leave. It wouldn’t for a few hours, but she could deal with it again; after all, this wasn’t the first _fucking time._

A nauseating fluttering started in her chest as bile began to rise.

A finger rubbed gently on her left hip. She flinched hard, curling away from the sensation. “Are you okay?” he asked again, more concern in his voice.

Her eyes opened slowly, looking only at the wall. Pictures of her family stared back at her. Plastered smiles frozen in time that felt like playing house now. Missing from each of them was Yamcha. Conversations overflowed her mind again, phone calls crying and screaming, asking why he didn’t come...

_Why didn’t he ever want to take a picture with me?_

A weight of guilt settled in her stomach.

_There was no going back._

She sighed. “It’s over, Yamcha.”

There was a rustling behind her. “What are you talking about?”

Stare at the wall... “I can’t do this anymore. I won’t.”

Silence, then a dark laugh left his lips. “Was it that bad?”

“Yeah,” she answered, swallowing her nervousness down. “It was.”

“Bullshit. You came! Or are you taking it now?”

“I may as well be if I have to think of someone else - my ‘mistake’ - in order to even get remotely into it, Yamcha.” He went quiet as that verbal knife cut through the air. She knew it was harsh. She knew he didn’t deserve her hate. But at this point, years of frustration began pouring out. “The only reason you don’t want this to end is because I’m the only real relationship you’ve ever had. We both know you don’t want this or me anymore, and neither do I. You don’t encourage me to chase my dreams. You never cared enough to make time, even when we were working together at the theater, to be with me over your other girlfriends. And you don’t care enough about me to make sure I’m satisfied in bed, let alone cum. So, I’m done.”

The tension grew as her words hit home. Her fingers tightened in the sheets, the coolness of the room’s air making her shiver slightly. Refusing to look behind her, Bulma reached down to the floor and picked up her robe.

Once it started sliding over her shoulders, she heard Yamcha croak out, “Who is it?”

She rubbed her temple, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Even though she knew she was being unbelievably cruel, Bulma’s mouth seemed to be past the point of caring. “Why do you need to know?”

Another sarcastic laugh. “Well, I deserve to know who stole my girl.”

“He didn’t steal anything from you. You lost me years ago when you first fucked someone else.”

“Who is he, Bulma?!”

A pair of large hands reached out to grip her shoulders, spinning her towards him. A desperate look, a crazy look, had dawned his face.

Her fists clenched, spine straightening. “Vegeta.”

His brows raised in astonishment. “That prince guy who just showed up? Him?”

Something surged within her at the way he said his name; how could she feel so protective about something that was _wrong_ to have done in the first place? Was it because she was owning what she did, despite how fucked up of a partner it made her?

_Or was it because he was starting to mean more than just a one-time-thing?_

Bulma shrugged his hands away, breaking eye contact. “Put your clothes on and go, please. We’re done here.”

Though Yamcha didn’t understand what just happened, he slowly did as he was asked. He put his shirt on, slipped on his pants as he looked at the blue-haired woman by the door. The girl he’d known for years. The one he...lost himself to.

_I’ve made some mistakes but..._

He stopped at the door, hand on the knob. Eyes pleading. Forearm shaking. “This is a mistake, Bulma.”

Without a hint of emotion despite her teary eyes, she whispered, “Looks like it’s another one I have to make.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you my readers here on Ao3 and followers everywhere. I read each and every comment you give and, even though I don't always reply, the thankfulness I have for you is boundless. 
> 
> A very special shoutout to my Patreon supporters (my beautiful Blues, Princes, Super Blues, and Saiyans): 
> 
> Candela Ficarrotta, GreyMochila, Bee, Mrs. Yuuwaku, Rasilina, AutumnToxicity, Loreal Davis, Coli Lynch, Ayla Bo, AlphaSheWolf, Holli, and Sara Beth 
> 
> I love you all ❤️
> 
> Be sure to follow me on Twitter @MelodiesVegebul for updates, behind the scenes stuff, and mini-smuts. 
> 
> For specific email notification updates on this story, be sure to hit the ‘SUBSCRIBE’ button in the upper right-hand corner of your screen. 


	9. Somebody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks so much for your patience with this chapter. July was full of craziness, including having to be retested for cancer. I’m okay but it took a lot out of me. Goal is to still finish this ASAP so we can move on to even better stories.
> 
> Artist: Depeche Mode
> 
> DBZ and the music inspiring each chapter do not belong to me. Please support to official releases of these products.
> 
> Enjoy! xoxo

The phone rang, echoing through the darkened room. A pair of sleepy eyes whose irises blended into the palette of the room opened slowly. Long hair laying gently across the top of his pillow. Arms bundled up underneath it, pushing the plush fabric into his chin. 

His father always scolded him, saying sleeping with an extra small pillow was the equivalent of a teddy bear. A ‘child’s plaything.’ He just did it for the neck support. 

Medium length fingers attached to a square palm stretched out, picking up the receiver. The rest of his form remained unmoving. 

“Hmph?”

“Good morning, Prince Vegeta. This is your wake up call. Breakfast shall be delivered to your room whenever you’re read-“

The receiver moved back into its original slot with a ‘clunk.’ That chiseled face burrowed into his small, red velvet pillow again. Eyes drifted shut, thankful for the blackout effect of the curtains. Those bare legs kicked out, moving the blankets around every way. One foot landed on top, welcoming the cool breeze of the A/C. 

_“-this Saturday morning, Venus moves into a trine with Mars and Jupiter, which we can just barely see using-“_

Fathomless eyes opened, rimmed with red and purple circles. Puffed cheeks protruded. Teeth bitten lips, complete with peeling skin, came out to chomp again. “Computer,” she croaked out from under the covers. 

_Beep.._

“Turn off the radio.”

_Bloop.._

Silence. Sweet silence. Lines of salty residue stiffened her cheeks uncomfortably, but Bulma had too little strength to do anything about it. Buried in a cloud of blankets and pillows, whose surprising coolness felt like a balm on her aching soul, she covered her head with the blanket once more. 

A foot stuck out of the pile. 

A brief wash of air from the oscillating fan on her left felt somewhat lovely. 

She knew she should get up. That she shouldn’t let last night discourage her from living today. But it had been a long week. She was tired. And emotionally drained. And just didn’t want to move. 

It’s strange how two souls who cross periodically can unconsciously mimic each other without knowing under the same city skyline that began to decorate itself with the soft oranges and baby pinks of morning. The city started to bustle itself awake below, with drivers making deliveries and people making their way - by foot or other modes of transportation - to work. One such place began with an employee unlocking a door and making their way to the back to prep dough for the day, rolling up their sleeves and turning on the speaker system as routine. Vegeta and Bulma, though, both laid in their respective beds. And seemed to realize, either through clandestine fate or pure coincidence, that their interrupted sleep and its wanted return was futile. 

She threw back the blanket, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Her eyes faded in an out, scrying pictures out of the odd pee-colored haze her eyes thought they saw on the popcorn ceiling. 

He stretched, spine popping in a few places. It was usual, for when a body is so used to working overtime, it tenses itself every which way. And yet, he still laid there to stare at his own ceiling. 

Each right hand moved up to rub their eyes, whisking the crust of sleep away. She tried with some slight effort to remember what odd splices of dreaming appeared in her mind over the night while he desperately fought to have his visions and feelings of being murdered repeatedly wiped from his. 

Bit by bit, as the dawn outside, began to transition into a dusty honeyed hue that only seemed to happen on early, sleepy weekend mornings Bulma and Vegeta got up. Toes popped, the appendages curling and unfurling in quick succession as they were flung over the sides of the mattress to the floor below. Unconsciously, one vocalist’s toes curled into the carpet beneath out of pure habit while the other felt a jolt as the cold tile sent a shock that made his ankles scream. 

Reluctant to leave the warmth of the covers behind, she made her into the bathroom. 

With a weary but toned, square palm he walked around the frame and made his own way in. 

Each hand turned a faucet nozzle, one knobbed and the other handled. Waters of the opposite temperatures poured out of surprisingly similar rain head attachments in equally spaced, though contrastingly tiled, glass showers. 

The liquid threatened to burn the very flesh from his bones; just the way he liked it. 

That quivering, fragile frame shook as the frigid splash chilled her to the core...but it damn sure did the job of waking her up. 

Somewhere in the mix, each had set their minds to making today different. Bulma was tired of the same routine, the same day-in-and-day-out. While Vegeta, well-

_Pound pound pound..._

_Buzz..._

A deep, stern voice sounded from the other side. “Vegeta. I need to-“

“Bulma, dear! Are you going to eat?” the overwhelmingly sweet voice of her mother cheered from the doorway.

Both turned towards the sound. His eyes narrowed in distaste and annoyance; hers simply closed, choosing to focus on the water instead of the question. “Can I have a minute, please?” they yelled back. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbled. 

A sigh escaped those chapped, pinned tight lips. 

_I need to get out of this place..._

“What are you doing here?” Bulma asked, an air of disbelief about her. 

Everything had been going halfway decent today. First, after giving her mother the slip and rushing out of the house to a cab, she made her way downtown. A few stops at the record store, a boutique, and then her favorite local delight Poor Richard’s. 

It was a quant little pizza shop that connected to a toy store, cafe, and book store through doorways. Each area had its own specific design, seeming to be four completely separate businesses but really all intertwined. Her favorite was the cafe; patrons could listen to smooth jazz and the hum of espresso machines while chatting quietly or eating grease, head-sized slices of pizza from the connecting shop. And, because of its popularity, it was packed but not as much as the restaurant itself. Bodies huddled together, sometimes six or seven to a table, while waitstaff bustled about. 

And right in front of Bulma, who’s table had the only open seat, was _him_!

Those dark eyes looked up from whatever paper he’d been scribbling on in slight surprise but it was easily wiped away. In a gruff voice he answered, “I could ask you the same thing.” His attention was again grabbed by the notes in front of him. “It’s not like we don’t see enough of each other at South City.”

_Apparently not._

A blonde with her pressed white shirt and black slacks slipped between the tables, looking right at Bulma with a wide smile. “Sorry, ma’am. Are you sitting here? Otherwise I’m happy to seat you in the pizzeria.”

She opened her mouth, trying her best to come up with an answer. Yet before she could say a word, Vegeta did interjected. “It’s fine. She’s with me.” A tiny smirk appeared on his face as he spotted her incredulous reaction out of the corner of his eye but his attention didn’t waiver from the waitress. “Could I get another cider?”

Oblivious to the tense dynamic between the two, she nodded her head and began jotting down the order. “And for you, ma’am?” her perky voice asked.

“Go ahead.” The dark eyes looked Bulma over for a moment. “It’s on me.”

The blue-nette crosses her arms in disbelief. Her weight shifted from one foot to the other. Where was this sudden change in decorum coming from? Her stage partner normally normally held a smug, asshole-like air about himself whenever she was around. Especially after their confrontation in the practice room. This sudden...gentleman routine was more unnerving. But, Bulma was never one to turn down an offer for free food. So, turning to the other woman, she wondered, “Would you get a mango smoothie for me, please? And one of your cranberry chocolate muffins?”

“Of course! I’ll have that right out.”

The idle chatter continued to buzz around them as Bulma stood there, looking the Saiyan down. He paid her no attention, choosing instead to look over the page - no, pages - in front of him. A familiar image of lines stretched across the page. Clearing her throat, she asked nonchalantly, “Taking notes on the new show’s sheet music?”

His eyes flicked up for a moment before returning to the page. “No. I know Carmen by heart; no need.”

“Oh.” A fluttering of awkward energy started in the pit of her stomach. A nervous hand adjusted the black frames sitting on her nose, making sure the wide lenses continued to block her puffed up eyes from the rest of the world’s view. Her head moved around idly, pretending to take in the room she’d seen a million times as she fought to find something else to say. 

“You know,” he started. “You can sit down. I won’t bite.”

_Well, that’s a lie._ Taking the suggestion, Bulma shrugged off her brown trench coat and sat across from him. They were at a booth near the cash register and the dish station; from here, they could even see stands of stuffed animal puppets and racks of board games from the next store over. If she were to then around, a view of popular incenses, journals, local crafted handbags, and the start of rows upon rows of bookshelves could be seen. 

She felt in the middle of it all but didn’t quite look as if she belonged. The lace cami and dark blue jeans she wore seemed very out of season compared to the beginnings of chilled weather outside, even if she was wearing ankle boots that matched her bag and coat. 

Then again, Vegeta didn’t look like he belonged either. With his tall stack of black hair and generally confrontational demeanor, he stood out everywhere. But he looked, much to her disdain, like a damn model. Skin tight black turtle neck and dark jeans, from what she could tell at this angle. A simple, silver chain hung down from his neck and a matching ring held snuggly to his finger. The man was well put together for a mid-morning out. 

“It’s for a show,” he explained, snapping Bulma out of her thoughts. “I’ve been writing it for some time.”

Her interest perked up. “Oh? Is it done?”

Those tanned fingers began picking up the pages gently. One by one, they disappeared on to the seat next to him. A bag? “It’s been done. Just looking over it again.” There was a hint of some unreadable emotion in those words that moved too quickly to fully grasp.

She tucked a stray curl behind her right ear, trying to shake this sense of nervousness. When was the last time she was alone with Vegeta? Well, the only time they were truly alone was that night...but Bulma had done her very best to keep it from her mind up until now. 

_Great job of that..._

He sighed, pulling her attention again. “Look...I’m sorry...if I keep making you uncomfortable.”

Her brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Arms crossing across his chest, Vegeta looked out the far windows. The previous night’s rain still wet the sidewalk but the sun had come out more since they both arrived. “I don’t like talking. I’d prefer it if I never did. Especially in a language that doesn’t belong to me.”

_That’s right. He’s not from here._ It’s amazing how much of his acting like he always belonged just made it seem real. Yet if Bulma was honest with herself, he wasn’t like everyone else. That’s part of why she liked him so much. 

_Fuck, not that right now..._

He continued, “But I know that me insisting you admit how much you’re attracted to me - because don’t lie, we both know you are - and I to you just makes it worse. Not to mention you have your...pet running around you still. That’s not very courteous of me.”

She looked away at that, knowing the glasses were doing well enough to keep her watery eyes hidden but it didn’t feel like that with Vegeta watching her. Plus, his bluntness. Which was refreshing, yes, but it made her feel even more raw right now. She did her best to blink away the tears before they fell. “He’s...not with me anymore. We’re not together.”

Now it was time for him to be taken back. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“...was it because...?”

She swallowed. “Yup. I told him.”

... “Well. A man like that wouldn’t know how to handle you anyway.” She looked at him and received that smug, arrogant grin back. Taking a sip of his current white cup of cider, Vegeta casually remarked, “He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that could choke a woman without bursting into tears.”

She actually laughed at that. It started as a giggle - because damn it, he was right - but then it grew into hysterical guffaws. Bulma clutched her sides, trying to keep it together as a few nearby patrons looked at her oddly. The whole time, Vegeta just pretended to be more interested in his empty cup to hide an ever-growing smile. 

Wiping the undersides of her eyes, Bulma laughed breathily, “You’re such an asshole.”

He couldn’t hide the grin anymore. “Never said I wasn’t.”

Without realizing her own smile was spreading, Bulma caught her breath. And, without thinking, she took off her sunglasses to tuck them into her purse. Her shining eyes met his, who did not fail to take in just how tired and wore down she looked compared to her usual self. “Have you had the pizza here?” that musical voice asked.

After a subtle shake of his head, Vegeta watched as she called over another waitress and requested a whole pie be sent over. Because ‘her best friend is a Saiyan and if Vegeta’s appetite is anything like his, they’re going to need three or four before they could leave’. Instead of objecting, he just nodded and grinned; at least she was talking to him about something other than work. 

And it was the first time he’d actually seen her smile since that first night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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